Romny 87: The Blood War
by Ronin201
Summary: It's 1987, and during the waning years of the Cold War Yuktobania struggles to keep its satellite states in check. When they fail to win with words, they'll try to win with bullets and bombs. Join soldiers of the Yuktobanian military as they fight Romny over disputed territory. A few stories on the 1987 Blood War with OCs. Respective Owners retain their rights.
1. The Iron Bear

_The Iron Bear_

 _January 22, 1987_

 _Near the Romny-Yuktobania Border_

Captain Gavriil Tatravich came to attention with the other officers of the 8th Guards Regiment's 511th Tank Battalion as Lieutenant Colonel Borodine walked to the front. The man with a sunken face and moustache that seemed too wide for his head returned the salutes of his men.

"Be seated, Comrades, we have much to discuss this morning."

The boyish-faced Captain sat down and watched his commanding officer as he raised a polished stick. Gavriil raised his hands to rub them together as he began.

"Good morning everyone, today in the face of failed negotiations with the Democratic Republic of Romny, we have been ordered to take the disputed region of Dola by force. We will be moving in close conjunction with the launch of the air campaign, which started earlier this night, and I have been authorized by our KGB informants to announce that Spetsnaz teams have been quietly active in the region, preparing the way for us and our Frontal Aviation Comrades. Specifically, they have assured me we will be given air support and that the heaviest Romn air defenses will be down. Expect MiG-27 and Su-25 aircraft to be readily available and attacking consistently as well as Mi-24s …however expect that the enemy will also have aircraft aloft. The Romny Air Force is not well equipped, but very large. Our ground-based defenses will do what they can to defeat what we expect to mostly be MiG-21s and Su-7s."

Attention was shifted to their specific enemies on the ground. Tanks couldn't destroy fighters except if they caught them on the ground.

"Our opponent is two battalions, one of motorized infantry, and one of armored forces. We expect to destroy their numerical superiority via shock effect and then a combination of maneuvering and training. A massive saturation bombardment will occur at dawn by our supporting Grad and Akatsiya batteries, followed by a number of smoke rounds. We will push into the smoke to cross the Noboli River, and then attack the nearest enemy position, which is about a mile beyond that along a low slope. We can expect to have our first support here, as the motorized infantry, border guards really, are believed to have concrete emplacements housing anti-tank missiles." The Colonel pointed out.

His pointer went to a field beyond, then up to the fork that marked the beginning of the Noboli and Gretvich rivers. A projector next to the map showed some aerial recon photos with annotations on a screen to highlight details.

"The infantry's main objective will be the bridges over the Gretivich, since the banks in the area are much steeper. We will push across the bridges with some of our infantry to establish forward positions across the area. We hope to meet the heaviest part of the armored forces near the tree groves here and hold them so they cannot get across the bridges or attack them directly. Expect to face a full battalion of T-64B main battle tanks with crews who know how to use the machine. These won't be the T-62Ms the majority of their army has." He iterated.

Gavriil noted the terrain for the positions where they would fan out. More fields, meaning the Yuktobanians would be the ones exposed to attacks from the Romns, though many of the groves were depleted with winter well in control. The low profile of the T-80 might also help…He noted it all and kept in mind he would want to have his tanks spread out enough to avoid enemy fire claiming multiple tanks in one shot.

"From these positions we will hold until we can strengthen the line and push on towards the car factories at Furabontesk. We can expect to be relieved in a few hours by more forces from the regiment. At that time we can properly evacuate casualties when engineer and medevac units come forward. The seriously injured can be taken away on Mi-8s. Are there any questions as to our overall mission?" He went on.

With a few small inquires to cover, there was some time for Gavriil to study his maps before they got to the specifics of the companies' jobs. Gavrill and his company would be moving down the left bridge towards the line, dubbed "Phase Line Zvezda". It was a precarious position in which they had the steep banks of the Gretivich to their backs and the enemy before them. He planned to be as far forward as he could so that they would have some room to retreat, and also began formulating possible retreat options. Contrary to the ideas and propaganda of Osea and its puppets, the Yuktobanians knew retreat; they just did not embrace it. Should he have to Gavriil would pull back so that men could be saved and used effectively in the future, but he had to be smart. The dismounted infantry and BMPs would help, as would the promise of constant air support. With his specific mission laid out, the young man and the rest of his peers were let go.

Outside the heated tent the cold didn't hesitate to stab at the men. Gavriil could at least take some comfort in the fact that he would be given a ride aboard a jeep back to his tanks. Said vehicle was waiting already; the brown-haired man was expected to brief his platoon commanders, and then ensure he was fit as a commander to take them into battle. All he really needed was some food, and maybe to write a letter or two home. With several other men in it, the UAZ bounded off to take them to their vehicles. Gavriil looked towards Captain Nikolai Sarov.

"I cannot believe we have to invade a country that's our ally. Disrespectful and ungrateful, don't they remember we help build their country?" Sarov asked aloud.

"Even best friends can have arguments, Toravish Nikolai." Gavriil reasoned.

"The Romns shouldn't be so sure of themselves. We will reach their capital in days." The redhead replied. His fellow soldier was always interested how he was so able to talk in a way that would cause political officers to both tense and smile.

"Those T-64s may make them feel sure of themselves. I sure hope your tanks and Toravisch Grigori's can hold them." Nikolai added.

"Our Frontal Aviation Comrades will be in our debt after today." Grigori added.

Gavriil tried to rest the back of his head against the window, but it was too cold. He pulled away and adjusted his winter cap. The Yuktobanians seemed to enjoy fighting wars when the world was getting colder, and it had become a joke (whenever political officers weren't nearby) that the winter made them stronger. This impending war was no different; he longed for Taisia's warmth instead…

* * *

Photographers from TAYS, the state news agency, was going through the platoons for photos, both of the soldiers at work and for smiling soldiers to show the people at home they were full of youth and morale. Gavriil had his three platoons of T-80Us placed in a semi-circle along the riverbank, with his T-80UK and company command in the trees towards the back. The 3rd and 4th Companies flanked him, with three companies of Motorized Riflemen in BMP-2 Infantry Fighting Vehicles. One of the journalists had come across his tank as he was sitting near its exhaust, using the residual heat from the last crank-up to warm himself some more. He looked up as the man photographed him looking at maps with a flashlight, wanting to save his the batteries of his PNV-57s for when they began the attack.

"Pardon me, Comrade Captain, but your current state seemed fitting to convey how our brave armed forces can deal with even this weather." The man said, hard to see in the dark.

"Save your film for the battle, Comrade." He grunted back.

The Captain looked up again as he heard the sounds of jets overhead. Earlier in the night, just after the platoon leaders had started to get their briefs, there'd been an air raid. Garviil's position had been lightly attacked, but no major damage had been dealt outside of some scratched vehicles and irritated troops. They were still plenty able to carry out their mission. The Captain looked up as the snowfall seemed to be steadying out. It was visible, but far from a storm or blizzard. He turned to get back onto the top of his T-80, and then inside it. He kept low in the event the Romns had snipers watching from across the river. Inside the tank it wasn't very warm, but it was better than being snowed on. His driver was on watch at the moment, meaning his gunner was asleep. Gavriil keyed his microphone.

"Kedlavich." He said.

"Yes, Comrade Captain?" The Efreitor replied quickly.

"I am going to sleep so I can be alert as possible when my shift comes. Wake me if anything important comes up." He instructed.

"Understood, Comrade Captain!" the excitable young man said. Gavriil smiled to himself and then slipped into the best slumber one could get in the commander's seat of a T-80.

The hours passed, and the front remained mostly quiet. The major war right now was that between the Yuktobanian Military Air Forces (VVS) and the Romny Peoples Air Defense (RALD). Situated behind the tanks and IFVs, 2K12 Kub (SA-6 Gainful) batteries backed up by ZSU-23-4 AA guns waited and occasionally picked off enemy jets that wanted to come and attack the waiting assault force. Around four that morning, Gavriil was finally awoken in preparation for the attack. He adjusted himself in the seat and peered out his cupola's periscopes before opening the hatch. The snow had long stopped, leaving the already white ground with a fresh thin layer of powder. The T-80's green and white camo was now whiter. He affixed his night vision goggles to his helmet and stared across the river; nothing to see at first, and nothing after watching for a moment.

The Captain slid back into his tank and closed the hatch. He checked his watch, noting the time. It was three fifty seven; the artillery bombardment was due to start in a few moments. Coincidentally, several miles away from the forward positions, several batteries of BM-21B rocket launchers and SO-152M self-propelled howitzers had finished zeroing their targets. Each battery was under the thumb of a single man with a red flag, who was keeping an eye on a watch. Artillerymen, by nature, relied on precision in all forms. Timing, coordinates, and the like made for the best results. When four AM came, the men threw down red flags and shouted "fire" in Yuktobanian. The 152s made brief reports as they fired their shells at the Romns' forward positions. The guns, as per planning, would fire four rounds each of High Explosives (HE), and then switch to their secondary coordinates and fire smoke. The rockets made a far louder sound, erupting from their tubes like thunder. The combined noise of entire batteries launching brought the crescendo to deafening levels, but even the older men in the units were hard pressed not to join their young compatriots in enjoying the beauty of rocket artillery.

Kedlavich pointed out the sounds of shelling as they started. He looked in the direction which the young sergeant sat and then listened. Sure enough he heard the distinct whistle of shells and the hiss of rockets. For a second he felt sorrow for the Romns at the incoming terrors. In the meantime he switched his microphone to the company channel.

"Gordost 2 Actual to all elements, report in." He radioed.

"Lev 1 reporting." 1st platoon's commander replied.

"Pantera 1, reporting in." 2nd platoon's leader radioed.

"Tigr 1 is reporting in." 3rd platoon's head said.

"All Gordost elements, start tanks and prepare to advance on Romny defensive positions, understand?" Gavriil said. They all replied obediently.

"For the glory of our motherland." Gavriil added, know well the political officer would be listening to everything they said. He switched to internal communications.

"Comrade Kedlavich! Start the engine! Comrade Daskal, ready the main gun and image intensifier!" The man barked.

The tank's gas turbine engine rumbled to life and Gavriil checked his station's features, namely his feed for the image intensifier, the navigation equipment, and the radios. His ears listened closely as the platoons readied for the attack, particularly to see if anyone had aby problems with their tanks. He waited until the clock struck 4:10 AM. A switch to the battalion net revealed the message he'd been awaiting.

"All battalion elements, Zvezda, Zvezda. For our great motherland." Borodine radioed.

"Gordost 2 Actual to all elements, advance! Wedge formation! Engage any enemies you encounter! Keep a line open to the fire support net, we must not hesitate to use our airborne Comrades!" Gavriil radioed after switching channels again.

The large, squat main battle tank rolled forward from its position on the Captain's command, moving at a speed chosen to allow for the gunner to hit targets accurately and for the beast to remain a hard target. Gavriil felt the front drop as they went down the slope to cross the shallow part of the river. The T-80 rolled through the shallow, icy water without trouble and onto the far bank. The terrain's slope upwards was very gradual; through the smoke Gavriil could see smoke from the impacts of the shells and rockets. He searched for any of the bunkers that they'd been told about as his company's tanks rolled out ahead of him. Towards the top he noted the flashes of guns.

"Gordost 2 Actual here, I need a report. Have we made contact?" He asked.

"This is Tigr 1-3; we have made contact with enemy positions. Scattered resistance; they appear to have been broken by the artillery." Third Platoon reported.

Gavriil acknowledged the report and kept a lookout for anything of interest as the tank went up a steep piece of terrain. Dasakal kept the gun depressed as far down as he could towards the inevitable threats. Finally a man-made structure was spotted on the image intensifier, and Daskal identified it was a small bunker.

"Engage!"

"Firing!"

The 125mm smoothbore cannon recoiled as it sent a High Explosive, Fragmentation (HE-F) round into the position. Kedlavich kept moving on towards the position, intent on crushing it with one of the treads should someone survive the explosion.

"Another bunker, fifteen degrees to our right!" Gavriil shouted as they rolled on.

The gunner rotated the turret and fired a second round at the position. Thanks to the optics in the T-80, the men watched as the 9K115 Metis launcher was tossed up in the ball of dust. Otherwise resistance was light thanks to the one-two punch of artillery and heavy armor. The tanks reached the top of the hill, fanning out to make themselves harder targets to artillery or inevitable air attack.

"Contact front! Infantry fighting vehicles!" Kedlavich called.

Further back from the crest were several BMP-1 Infantry Fighting Vehicles, which Gavriil guessed were to try and slow the T-80s. They'd do little, if anything.

"BMP, two degrees to our left!" Daskal sounded.

"Engage with HE-F!" The Captain replied.

The T-80's turret moved slightly left, and seconds later the gun again rocked back. The BMP-1's poor armor stood no chance against the 125mm gun, and a brilliant flash lit up the night. It was only as it illuminated the other T-80s moving through the field that Gavriil realized that the Romns were INSIDE their formation. The BMP's bad armor had been made up for in part by its low profile, which in the tall, snow-covered grass, made it even harder to see.

"Gordost 2 Actual to all elements! Slow down! We're among Romn IFVs. I repeat, enemy IFVs in our formation!" He shouted.

The man could feel sweat on his brow and his jaw tightening. After a minute he calmed himself and remembered his armor training in the Jilachi Desert. Their 9M14 anti-tank missiles were too close to the Yuktobanians MBTs to be effective, which left them with their 76mm cannons and machine guns. Again, they were of little effect. Another BMP fired at his tank twice, the small cannon able to put out several rounds a minute. It took the last HE round in the autoloader in the front; flames spilled out the back. Now it was on to armor-piercing to deal with the T-64s.

"Gordost 2 Actual to Rys 3 Actual, we're preparing to attack by fire across the bridge." He radioed.

"Understood Gordost, we shall remain behind." The leader of the Motor Rifle Company they were escorting replied.

The bridge would be a very vulnerable place, so Gavriil had decided to keep spacing wide for its crossing. He ordered One of his platoons to the left of the structure, so they could support the other two platoons that would cross. Mines were always a problem, he remembered; the man keyed his microphone.

"This is Gordost, does anyone see any signs of traps on the bridge?" He asked.

"Negative, Comrade Captain, I can't see anything." One of the tanks radioed back. Gavriil frowned, and then looked at the bridge again. It was clear from what he could see.

"I shall lead us across, then. Lev, follow me quickly; a single tank would be hard-pressed to hold the other side." He decided.

"Uhm, Comrade Captain…" The political officer, one Senior Lieutenant Popov, began to interject.

"I would be a coward to send my men ahead, Comrade Popov. The Red Army does not accept cowards." Gavriil snapped.

Kedlavich aimed the T-80 for the entrance, moving a bit faster. For its size, the tank could really roll when it was given the power to. Gavriil felt the treads hit paved road as they got onto the bridge and moved forward. At the Captain's orders, the smoke grenades on either side of the tank were fired to give them some more cover.

"Enemy armor, front! I count two!" Kedlavich shouted as the machine got onto the open ground on the other side. He sounded like a boy about to see a naked female for the first time.

"Calm, Comrade Kedlavich! Daskal!" Gavriil shouted.

"Keep her steady…firing!" The gunner replied.

The T-80 moved to the left as its gun rocked. Gavriil felt his body tingling until the round impacted against the T-64. The gunner chambered a new round and fired again to secure the enemy tank's death. Its partner felt the wrath of the T-80s following their company commander. The first platoon across sped up and began to fan out. To his front, Gavriil saw woods well in the distance, towards the maximum range of their guns. He gave the order to move closer and decided the treeline would be bombed. As he started to make a call back for something to do the job, he heard the sound of someone firing their machine gun. As he was about to ask, the sound of impacts redirected his attention.

"Enemy aircraft!" Lev 1 called.

The tank vibrated as Romn aircraft, Su-7BMKs, made runs. Further back, however, they were already gaining the unwanted attention of frontline Kub batteries. The missiles' 1S91 radar painted the Su-7s as they ascended to try and come around for more attacks. Closer to the tanks, ZSU-23-4MZ Shilka mobile AA guns were already demonstrating why Kaluga forces had come to call the things "Sewing Machines" and why Osea and her allies hated the thing. The Romn pilots would quickly regret trying to attack, as they were fired on by guns and missiles. Either way they were out of Gavriil's hair, and he was able to call in some air support. Four Su-25 Grach strike aircraft were ordered in, each armed with FAB-500 bombs and S-24 rockets.

"Gordost 2 Actual, this is Gadyuka Leader, we will make two runs, one with each weapon. Please specify your target." A voice radioed.

"Gadyuka, we need you to attack the treeline o our front in order to deny the enemy proper cover." Gavriil replied.

"Understood, send back the information." The pilot replied.

As per the Yuktobanian system, the specific target was sent back to rear-echelon posts, who coordinated with ground-based radar systems to make sure the weapons would arrive right on target. Once the info was passed along, the Sukhois could attack. From his position, Gavriil saw shapes on the image intensifier. As he'd feared, they were T-64s of the Romny Peoples Land Forces (RPNS).

"Contact, enemy armor to our front. Engage immediately…Rys 3 Actual be advised, we've come into contact with enemy T-64s. Wait until we can establish a tighter perimeter for you to disembark."

As the BMP commander relayed they would support by using their own 9M113 Konkurs anti-tank missiles, Gavriil moved forward with two of his platoons flanking him. The last was deployed near the bridge to hold it. Gavriil got to work, ordering they fire on the first tank they saw while the Su-25s came to help. He and his own crew went to work as well as they slowed and began picking targets.

"Enemy tank sighted Daskal, five degrees right!"

"I have him, sir!"

"Fire!"

"Firing!"

Another round exited the barrel and struck and advancing T-64 in the left tread. Daskal worked the autoloader and gave the enemy tank a second. Gavriil ordered the platoons to start flanking the Romn tankers so as to quickly defeat them. Kedlavich moved left with several other T-80s while the commander and gunner kept the turret's front rotated at the formation of T-64s advancing from the woods. There was at least a company of the older tanks. The radio came to life, and the VVS pilots announced they were dropping their weapons. Two of the Graches shot over several hundred feet above, bombs in their wake. Gavriil ignored whatever affects they would have; he was too focused on the battle.

"Gadyuka, be advised, we are getting close to the enemy armored formation. Don't make any more runs unless cleared by us." Gavriil replied as he saw several Romn MBTs burning.

"Roger that Gordost, good luck."

As the Graches flew off, trying to avoid an Osa battery that'd managed to slip in at some point, Daskal zeroed and destroyed another T-64. How many was it so far? The Captain had lost count of their number of kills. Suddenly he felt an impact, directly against the tank, and then another. The tank stopped with a mechanical crunch of sorts. Gavriil threw up a hand to stop his face from connecting with his station's screens and the like, but it was just a little late. His nose began to ache immensely as he pulled back, and after a second he felt the flow of blood coming out of his nostrils.

"Report!" He shouted.

"Enemy tanks, two of them!" Daskal barked as he tried to get the gun on one of the targets.

Fortunately the T-80's situation was far from hopeless. The other platoons were still at near-full strength. Only one of the MBTs had to see Gavriil's plight to move into action. The sergeant commanding it beckoned another T-80 to his side to help. Gavriil keyed his mike.

"Kedlavich! Can we move?" He demanded. Nothing.

"Kedlavich, answer me!" The Captain bellowed.

"Comrade Captain, the Romns!" Daskal pointed out.

His image intensifier offline, the officer used one of his periscopes to see what exactly the gunner was on about. His saw, the inky dark, tanks reversing. They'd routed the bastards! He watched as his company kept up the fire, and Rys 3 advanced part of itself across the bridge as the radio indicated. As the fire died down, Gavriil pushed open his hatch and looked out as the other tanks pushed against the retreating Romns. He drew in a breath, tasting blood, and looked back as Yuktobanian Motor Riflemen were rushing across the bridge. He rested back and grabbed his NSV machine gun and began to move it towards the retreating Romns. They could come again at any moment …his mind told him this might be a ruse.

"Comrade, are you okay?!"

He looked down to see an infantryman, his squad moving around the tank. The man who'd called to Gavriil started to climb up to help him. He took out a field dressing.

"For your nose, Comrade Captain." He grunted.

Gavriil looked towards his tanks again, lit by the scant light of the early morning and the burning fires of the destroyed tanks. The squad took up positions near some fallen trees a little forward of the T-80 and helped the men in the turret out. After a few minutes of sitting next to his tank, Gavriil saw several MT-LBs coming forward. He guessed the Romn SAMs were still close. The man staggered up as one pulled up near his tank. Yuktobanian medics emerged to help better treat any wounded. Gavriil insisted he stay here, but he was told he would have to go back to get a new tank, which would be along in due time. Kedlavich and Daskal would go back with him, as would wounded from the four tanks the company lost. The redheaded Captain looked at Kedlavich as the young man lay in the back of the tracked carrier with his crew, almost completely burnt alive. The driver's mouth was still hanging open, evidence of his screams as he'd tried to combat the flames. From what Gavriil understood, one of the rounds that'd hit had filled the driver's compartment with flames. Soon his parents would be told how brave their young son had been, and how much the state was in debt to them for that. He hoped they wouldn't openly view his body before it was buried.


	2. Wings of the Yellow Stag

_Wings of the Yellow Stag_

 _January 20, 1987_

 _Near Zoly Nomvia Air Base, Southern Yuktobania_

The young man shouted joyously and clapped in rhythm as he and his fellow military officers watched their squadron executive officer threw up his legs in a traditional Northwestern Yuktobanian folk dance. The small band accompanying them with music was doing pretty well, and there was good reason to be in such high spirits. The men, members of the Yuktobanian Military Air Forces (VVS) were preparing to strike and take back what was theirs soon. Though the plans of exactly what was going to happen were wrapped tightly in secrecy, it was heavily believed war was imminent. The local people had decided they would send their brave young men off with affection and well-wishing. Pavel had honestly only thought the Veruseans capable of this kind of enthusiasm, the suicidal bastards. Ironic, considering he was a quarter Verusean.

Senior Lieutenant Pavel Cherborsk of the VVS 418th Fighter-Bomber Squadron, 4th Guards Fighter Regiment, shouted again as Major Bychkov did the same. Such merry-making, an act usually associated with the Osean and the perception of them as uncouth "cowboys", was a recent liberty the men had been able to take. They had been able to celebrate in the past, but not as often. The reforms brought about by Premier Mekhantyev had made their way into the armed forces very adamantly, and though the men could not drink tonight, especially not with war on the horizon, they had been pressed to feel less like puppets of the party and more like free men who served Yuktobania because they loved their home country. The dark-haired Pavel welcomed the change as a young bar maiden twirled by.

She held out a hand and beckoned the exuberant Pavel to dance with her as some of the other officers also chose partners to dance with. He gladly accepted it and followed in step with her as they extended their arms and twirled around, still keeping up the circle as it went around the high-stepping Major. Tonight he would feel like a happy human being, and tomorrow he would make himself useful…

* * *

"Wake up Tovarishch Cherborsk, we have work to do."

Pavel coughed and lifted his head towards the voice.

"They haven't even called us up for calisthenics, Tovarishch Lapin, go back to sleep and show patience." He said. He wanted to make himself useful but sleep was important.

"The call should be coming any minute…" Senior Lieutenant Andrei Lapin replied in a "mind you" tone of voice.

Pavel let out a long breath as a speaker outside the barrack room door crackled softly and the sound of patriotic music surged.

"Good morning comrades, good morning! Awake and greet another purposeful day! Today's exercises shall be carried out in the gymnasium due to the cold weather conditions! All information regarding meals for today and flight assignments prior to this evening's events shall be available at the gymnasium for you to view! Morning review shall be held in its usual location, as weather conditions will be clear today! That is all comrades, glory to our motherland!" A young voice boomed, music still present in the background.

Deciding today a swim would be nice, Pavel collected his trunks, goggles and cap before exiting his room. Other officers filtered into the warm hallway, standing tall even as they yawned and awoke themselves. Pavel followed several men from his squadron down the stairs and to the doors facing the gymnasium for the officers' barracks. As was often the case, the men started running as they were met by the cold air. It woke any drowsy individuals immediately, and the sound of a collective surge forward told them all it was time to make the "Polar Run". It was only 40 feet to the desired building, but in the cold of January at Zoly Nomvia Air Base it could be numbing. The first to the doors didn't so much push them open as they rammed them with the front of their bodies and stumbled back to their feet.

After that the gaggle slowed and formed into their groups of friends and companions. Andrei and Pavel's normal wingman, Sub-Lieutenant Ognjen Slevba, walked together to the lockers for their morning exercise.

"Tonight we destroy the bastard Romns. The bastards have been clinging to use so long and now they spit in our faces? Disgraceful." The balding Ognjen scowled. He'd always been known for his far-spaced, but notable, boughs of venom-spitting.

"They won't last long, I imagine. We know the makeup, doctrine, and morale of their air force. We did teach them tactics from our past, after all!" Pavel couldn't help but laugh.

"They won't, we'll crush their force in hours." Ognjen declared.

The dark-haired Pavel let his friend be angry; the man could control it. He made his swim quick that morning, only twenty laps, before he emerged from the water to check the information board in the pool area. The meals were of little importance to him that morning; the real question was the exact time of the briefing and any other flights that day. The base had been keeping up a defensive screen in conjunction with other facilities in the area to meet the potential of a Romn strike on them before the Yuktobanians could act first. It appeared that the 222nd Fighter-Bomber squadron would be the ones to fulfill the role of air defense today, and his squadron would be the ones to go into Romny first. Pavel smiled a little. Though he wasn't enthusiastic about the concept of killing, he was honored to be at the front of what was about to happen.

From there the men filtered back in groups to change into their uniforms for the day. Over their dark green flight suits they put on clothes suitable for heavy weather, to include fur caps, giving them the appearance that most associated with the typical Yuktobanian soldier. On his way to morning formation, Pavel let himself think about the girl he'd danced with last night, Jasna. She'd been a university student until her mother had fallen ill and she'd come home to help. A very smart girl; Pavel had told her to return to her studies when the time was right. The Union needed intellectual strength as much as it needed military and industrial strength. He smiled; Jasna and him would have to meet again. He reached the formation grounds: a wide courtyard facing a stage with the seals of the Union, the Armed Forces, and the VVS on its back wall. Photos of Lenin and the current premier, Mekhantyev, looked on triumphantly above those standing at attention. Colonel Ayhal Milkovar marched onto the stage with his adjutant and the Fighter Regiment's Political officer in tow. Those gathered paid their respects to their country before the commander began.

"Good morning, Comrades!" He boomed from a wooden podium. Their respectful silence was the reply.

"I'm glad to see you all in good spirits today; we need them to conquer the challenge ahead. Our people need them to feel safe knowing we'll stride into battle and uphold what is dear to them."

From his position, Pavel wasn't sure what the Colonel was basing that assumption off of. Yes it was true, but no one was smiling or showing any emotion.

"I cannot think of anything to say outside of what you all are well aware of, and what the VVS has firmly taught you. We've trained to fight the Oseans and their underlings for years! The Romn's air force will be nothing! If we can build the plan to beat the imperialists, we can beat our own allies when they rebel against us!" He went on. The man looked down at the podium.

"The premier and the party wish us the best of luck and commend us for our willingness to go! They believe that our spirit will give us all the more advantage to win!"

Pavel saw through the message. In reality training and weapons were the determining factors. Some foolish concept like divine grace or luck had no part in it. With little more to say, the Colonel dismissed his men to begin the working day proper. Pavel worked in the maintenance section of his squadron, helping to ensure the engines and other systems of the squadron's 12 MiG-29 "Fulcrum" (he liked the Osean name for it) fighters were in the best condition they could get. Part of Pavel's love for the Fulcrum, especially the new S models the unit had gotten a few months ago, was its rugged design. It could take off from simple roads in almost any environment, and still match the sophisticated systems found on its contemporaries in the west, such as the much-lauded F-16. Pavel scoffed; the F-16 was a poor comparison with its one engine and lack of apparent long-range weapon. The F-18 Hornet seemed a more appropriate rival.

From the squadron's headquarters, Pavel walked close to the buildings until he reached a large, reinforced hangar with "VVS 418th Maintenance Hangar" written on a door. Pavel held up his free hand and pushed it aside, striding in and welcoming the warmer air. Maintenance hangars were the top priority due to the value of aircraft parts. He took a right and headed for an officer where Senior Sergeant of Aviation Sergei Logov, the squadron's senior enlisted maintenance man, had his desk. Pavel also had his desk for the department inside.

"Comrade Sergeant, please open up." He announced loudly after knocking. There was only a brief pause before the locked door was opened (the new nature of the MiG-29S relegated some security for the time being).

"Welcome, Comrade Lieutenant." The rotund mechanic nodded.

"What's the status of our aircraft? Regiment command needs all twelve on standby for the escort tonight." Pavel immediately said, tossing his hat onto the desk.

"The aircraft are all in fine shape, Comrade Lieutenant. The only matter is that we will need to replenish our stocks of cold-weather lubricants soon. As you very well know, the change to combat posture means we use more than usual, especially in winter." Logov reported, standing at parade rest.

"Understood, I will approve the order as soon as I can." He said. He looked at the man.

"Are there any new matters? I know this winter in particular had been causing some problems for our aircraft." Pavel asked.

"We've been working as hard as we can, Comrade Lieutenant. I know the state won't be particularly happy about any kind of failures at the start, where we're entrusted to have almost total control." Logov assured. He allowed himself a smile.

"Of course a work camp wouldn't be much different from this place."

"No, Comrade Sergeant, it wouldn't." Pavel agreed, still thawing a little from the outside.

"And the wiring for the weapons?" He went on?  
"The best it's ever been, Comrade Lieutenant. The ordnance department has kept the R-73s and R-27s in climate-controlled storage, as well."

"Good, very good. We'll all appreciate it tonight, Comrade." Pavel nodded…

* * *

The twelve MiG-29S Fulcrums of the 418th Fighter-Bomber Squadron sat on the cold tarmac, bathing in a thin layer of anti-ice mixture while they waited for their pilots. Snow was expected over Northern Romny tonight at 4000 meters and below; the fighters and the Tu-22M bombers they'd be protecting intended to be well above that. Inside the building where the unit went about its administrative and personnel level business, the 12 men of the squadron that flew had been gathered to get the detailed information they needed on their duties for tonight.

"Comrades, tonight we will be tasked with escorting a strike by Tu-22 bombers on the military base at Klapva. The Tupolevs, callsign "Obratnyy", will be six in number; two will be turning back at a certain point if the four primary aircraft are in good shape to press the attack. The base itself is home to the Romns' 378th Motorized Rifle Regiment, which command believes serves as the protector of the city of Slena." Major Leonid Cheposk, the squadron's intelligence officer, said. He quietly eyed the political officer in the room before continuing, looking for any bad signs. Seeing none, he continued.

"We will screen ahead of them well in advance with part of the escort defending the bombers themselves. Despite training from us, we can expect the Romns to also have developed their own tactics, and with their older aircraft they may attempt to use large numbers to attack us. Don't fight alone; you have allies, support one another. We will have the support of an A-50, which will be known on the radio as "Glubina". IL-78 tanker aircraft will be waiting in Yuktobanian airspace to support you on your return trips, if you so desire. Check your notes for specific radio callsigns and locations."

Pavel checked his role in the flight. He would be part of the screening force with Andrei on his wing, flying under the moniker "Kvant 1-5". It was also made clear, for the purposes of avoiding friendly fire, the positions of Su-27S "Flanker" fighter-interceptors guarding the border and MiG-25BM "Foxbat" defense suppression aircraft attacking in advance to further clear the way for the bombers and strike aircraft following them. They were expected to be challenged by Su-7, MiG-21, and MiG-23 fighters of the Romny Peoples' Air Defense (RALD). Below, the threat of S-125 and S-200 Surface-to-Air Missile (SAM) batteries represented the foremost threat even after attacks by the MiG-25s. Anti-aircraft guns were expected to either be out of range or hampered by the weather.

The final matter of business was, inevitably, the Oseans. Though not directly involved, their expeditionary tendencies meant Yuktobanian forces wanted to keep them in mind at all times. It was report that the two closest concerns, the visible ones, were a pair of Osean carrier battle groups. One, led by _OFS Evergreen_ was in the Southwest Pacific, while the other, centered on _OFS Eagle_ , was sailing in the Persian Sea. Neither was expected to come to the aid of the Romns, but the pilots about to strike south were well-advised to be aware. They were dismissed to get their equipment.

Pavel carried quite a bit of gear. He wore extra layers to protect against the cold, especially at high altitude, as well as special fittings to defeat the force set by maneuvers he'd be carrying out in flight. Known commonly as a 'G-suit", the harness also allowed him to carry his survival equipment and oxygen system. Among the newer pieces of equipment he had was the Shchel-3UM, a helmet-mounted sight meant to increase the abilities of his R-73 missiles. The South Africans were the only other country to have such a device; it was an almost unreal development. Pavel could now fire his weapons much farther off boresight. Despite that much gear, he was still able to walk to get the final component of his things. He carried Makarov PM handgun in case they were shot down. The young man had never actually fired the weapon in anger, but he didn't intend to put himself in that situation.

The pilots for the mission walked down a long hall flanked by portraits of distinguished members of the squadron, as well as its former commanders. From there they exited into the frigid evening air and walked towards their MiGs. Avel put on his helmet as he walked out to help keep warm. Already he could feel the temperature surging for any inch of exposed skin. He wanted to move faster, but the small risk that there would be an errant patch of ice somewhere held him. He stopped in front of a MiG, side number 803, and approached the crew chief. In the florescent lights of the airfield, the enlisted man looked almost ghostly.

"Is the aircraft ready, Toravisch?" Pavel breathed out.

"Yes, it is." The man replied, as eager as his Lieutenant to retreat to warmth.

Pavel still had the matter of a personal inspection. Unlike far more complex aircraft of Osea and Usea, Yuktobanian jets were rugged and easy to determine the readiness of. Pavel fought the chattering his teeth desired as he gave the fighter his meticulous attention. He would be carrying four R-73s on the outer pylons and two R-27s on the inner pylons; he also had his GSh-301 cannon. The pilot hurried up the ladder into the cockpit…which was not much warmer than the rest of the world around. No matter, he could warm up using the heater and soon be perfectly fine. For now preparations were set forth to ensure the fighter was running smoothly. Pavel squinted as the gauges and displays in his cockpit lit up. The engines settled into a healthy screech as he closed the canopy and made sure he was secure.

With his fighter in a combat-ready state, Pavel followed the other jets taxiing out towards the runway. The combat frequency was filled with quick, punctual bursts

"ZN Aerodrome Control, this is Kvant 1-5…Requesting permission to taxi to Runway 1-R."

"Kvant 1-5, ZN Aerodrome Control, you are cleared to taxi to Runway 1-R. Hold at the entrance point." A young voice from the control tower radioed swiftly.

Pavel guided his MiG to the runway he'd been allowed to use and held as another pair of camouflaged fighters in his flight took off. Upon another blessing from the control tower, Pavel and Andrei rolled onto the runway and checked the conditions. Armed with knowledge of the wind speed and direction, the two were then cleared to fly. Pavel led the charge, bringing his two Klimov engines to maximum power. Andrei followed him closely, demonstrating the level of coordination between even two pilots. Pavel constantly checked his speed on his Head's Up Display (HUD) as well as how much runway he had left. When he reach 290 kmh, the pilot pulled back swiftly on the stick. In a fluid, but almost violent, motion the MiG-29 pushed off the runway.

Pavel made his climb immediately after his gear and flaps were in a position for actual flight, almost completely vertical. The raw, brutish force of the Fulcrum put a smile on the young pilot's face. He and his wingman eased their rapid ascent so they would level out at 6700 meters above the land and adjusted their heading to the west of the base, where the flight was forming and sorting itself. The bombers, flying from Kabutska Air Base, were to remain north of them until the escort was formed proper. The sky that night was, as to be expected, full. The Yuktobanians had multiple layers of their overall strategy to defeat the Romny People's Air Defense (RALD) and preserve their own dominance. Close to the border, Su-27s and MiG-31s flew patrols to keep any Romn aircraft out. Su-25s, MiG-27s, and Su-24s interdicted objectives close to the front line. MiG-29s and more Su-27s filtered southwest through holes MiG-25s had already cleared in the border's airspace. Behind the fighters were Tu-22 bombers, and several types of support craft. Pavel's group organized within their set timetable.

"Obratnyy 2-1, this is Kvant 1-1, we are formed and ready to move to target." Colonel Milkovar reported.

"Kvant 1-1, this is Obratnyy 2-1, roger that. We are in formation and following your lead." An unfamiliar voice replied.

The MiGs formed out in a defensive arc around the bombers, some maintaining 6700 meters while others went to 4500 meters to preempt attacks by low-level attackers. Pavel was placed on the right flank at 6700. Outside the dark sky became clearer and clearer as his eyes adjusted. The RWR kept his attention reigned in for now, telling him the status of the Romn anti-aircraft weapons below. For now he used his Phazotron radar; the IRST (InfraRed Search and Tracking) lens just forward of his cockpit remained off. Below and ahead, he could see the scant bursts of AAA guns, but for the most part the missiles had been saturated by attacks. Suddenly his RWR began to increase its panic. Well, perhaps not all of them.

"We have a Vega battery at vector 065." Kvant 1-3 reported.

"Roger that, all aircraft deploy countermeasures and break into pairs. Obratnyy, action to the left." The colonel radioed.

The formation broke apart quickly, flares and chaff leaving the aircraft as they moved from their stable flight paths. The Tu-22s deployed clouds of the measure, aluminum strips designed to confuse radar, as it was confirmed the long-range S-200s had fired on them. The older S-200s, known as the SA-5 "Gammon" to Osea and her allies, were fooled by the sheer amount that was dispensed. Pavel noted that none in particular had been fired at him; he wasn't surprised. The Romns desired both easy kills and the more valuable targets. Nonetheless he kept his aircrafts energy and speed high, allowing him to be nimble against any missiles.

The terrain below began to show signs of cities in the form of clusters of lights on the horizon. The flight of bombers began to increase their speed, using their computer systems to ensure their bomb loads would be delivered accurately. They started forming from their "V" formation into pairs so they could attack fast and avoid being a group target. The target was roughly 240 km away, very close at these speed, actually. But they were in for the next challenge; their A-50 warned them of contacts on its scopes.

"Kvant 1-1, this is Glubina, we are monitoring aircraft taking off from the RALD base at Korpolisk. Vector is 207, 200 km away. We have spotted four so far, more will likely scramble."

"Roger Glubina, do you have any idea their type?" the Colonel asked.

"We believe them to be MiG-23MS fighter-interceptors based on reports. Protect Obratnyy, Kvant."

"Understood…Kvant 1-3, take Kvants 1- to 1-6 and meet the attackers. Kvant 1-2 and I will defend the bombers."

"Roger that, Kvant 1-1." Major Logonov replied firmly.

Beckoning on his fellow men of the VVS, Logonov took the rest of the flight, Pavel included, and streaked ahead of the pack to meet the incoming threat. The MiG-23, the Flogger as the world knew it, was designed to intercept aircraft like the Tu-22. The MiG-29 would be able to overpower the machines in rapid succession. Pavel and Andrei were ordered to lower their altitude and execute and attack against the MiG-23s from the left flank of the RALD aircraft. Pavel armed his R-27s and tuned his Phazotron to target one of the MiG-23s. As the young officer had boasted earlier, the Romns were using older tactics that they had been taught by the VVS. The Yuktobanians countered immediately, and effectively. Andrei and Pvel moved further apart and began to ascend at the attacking aircraft. Pavel listened to the electronic warbling of his weapons' system as it reached across the sky and targeted one of the Floggers maneuvering against him. One, the wingman of the twoship they'd selected, turned into him to defend his leader while said leader went high and then into their charge's direction. The aircraft tried to lock onto him as well, but Pavel and Andrei had over twice the range advantage on them. At 77 kilometers to merge, Pavel depressed the weapons release button under his thumb.

"Kvant 1-5, Radar Launch." Pavel reported calmly.

In a brilliant flash of light, his left R-27 accelerated off the rail and towards the RALD fighter. The YAF pilot kept the enemy fighter, whose position was represented on his HUD by a green box, inside the "steering circle" that relayed to him the radar was guiding the missile. Distance was closing rapidly.

"Kvant 1-6, dispose of your external tank." Kvant 1-5 ordered.

"Understood, Yezh." Andrei said, applying his friend's nickname.

Pavel dropped the external fuel tank hanging between his engine nacelles and listened as his RWR told him he was being targeted. It was only a minute or two until the older MiG-23 got a lock with his own R-23 missiles. Pavel watched and began to pucker his lips in anticipation. Finally he saw an explosion in the distance and a streak of fire.

"Look at them, they're so confused and scared those few Vega sites didn't even try to track us properly." Ognjen jeered.

Pavel looked around as he pulled above the burning wreckage of what had once been a MiG-23 and saw plumes rising vertically. Upon further examination he realized that the half a dozen or so "missiles" were aircraft. MiG-21bis fighters, commonly (and ignorantly) called Fishbed by western air forces, were rising up from low level to try and challenge the Yuktobanians.

"Be advised Kvant Leader, we have multiple MiG-21s attack from low-level." Pavel spoke up, switching to his R-73s. They were too close to allow his other R-27 time.

"Energiya, maintain your distance from me, we're going right." Pavel ordered.

The two MiG-29s left their ascent and turned to the right to engage a pair of MiG-21s that had come screaming up from below. Pavel felt himself grinning as his helmeted-mounted sight worked faster at acquiring his target, which shot above him He ordered that Andrei break from his lead and pulled back on the stick, screaming up and pulling his nose over into a upwards Split-S. The pilot snarled and grunted under the G-forces, piling up and varying as he entered into the classic realm of the dogfight, an art that had spread its ways across almost every corner of the globe since 1914. Pavel rolled so he was upright and kept the other MiG in his sights, which was now ascending to get even higher.

"Glubina, Glubina, we have encountered heavy resistance." Kvant 1-1 reported angrily.

"Roger Kvant, we have additional waves coming in to help." The A-50 replied calmly.

Far away, Su-27s that had been guarding the border were pushed through the gaps to help. The long-range fighter interceptors carried more R-27s than R-73s, but they were highly debated as the world most agile fighters. The AEW craft coordinating the opening waves factored them into the waves of traffic moving in and out and handed four a vector to the MiG-29s of the 418th Fighter-Bomber Squadron.

In the meantime Pavel could only keep himself and maybe Andrei protected. As the MiG-21 appeared in his forward area again, the pilot waited until one of his R-73s had a solid lock. As he had with the R-27, Pavel depressed the button beneath his thumb and made sure not to watch the flash.

"Kvant 1-5, Infrared Launch." He announced with a more strained voice.

The nimble missile make a rapid departure after the MiG-21 as it rolled and then broke hard right. The missile followed the maneuver with some ease and Pavel and kept far enough behind to negate the issue. The back of the MiG-21 exploded. Pavel passed by and saw a flash from almost behind him. Another Fishbed had charged in to try and attack with what the VVS pilot could assume was an R-60 (he heard no radar warnings). The only modern AAM the MiG-21bis could shoulder…what a shame, what a shame. Pavel deployed flares from his more modern aircraft and turned into the attack, craning his neck so he could see the Romn. They passed by and Pavel leveled out and went higher. The radio was alive with line after line, call after call.

Pavel listened with a growing from as he and Andrei ascended towards a fourship of RALD Floggers streaking overhead. They were dropping away rapidly, one after the other…but how many were there? Every one he'd shot down seemed to have been replaced by another. How many had he destroyed so far? Two, yes two. He rolled over and tilted the nose back, firing another R-73 with the help of his Shchel. The pilot rolled hard at the top of his ascent, feeling the air buffet the fighter as he struggled now to get into a good position behind the MiG-23s as they scattered.

"Kvant 1-1, this is Molniya 3-1, we are approaching to help. What is the current priority?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

"Concentrate on the MiG-23s if you can, Molniya. They intend to destroy our bombers. The MiG-21s are just distractions!" the Major called.

"Where are the bombers?" Kvant 1-3 asked.

"Obrantnyy is at IP for bombing run." The lead Tu-22 promised.

In the meantime another hapless MiG-23 fell to Pavel, largely in part to their predictable tactics. Maybe he had overreacted; this was getting easier by the minute. Suddenly his systems alerted him to a missile after him. Pavel reacted defensively, as did Andrei. Kvant 1-5 looked all around for the threat as he moved up and into the attack. As he reversed, flares in his wake, he saw a flash of motion. His eyes identified a MiG-21 as it streaked by, on a course to attack Andrei. Pavel made a hard left and put his helmet sight to use as he brought his aircraft to the angle need for a clean launch.

"Energiya, watch out, you've got a MiG-21, six o'clock." He reported.

The RALD MiG fired two more R-60s, both at Andrei. The pilot turned into the attack, but the Romn had timed his two shots so that the second would go off at the Yuke as he was defending. Pavel moved fast, but he wasn't fast enough to stop the enemy fighter, all he could do was retaliate with an R-73. The MiG-21 turned right and went hard to defeat the missile. In the meantime Pavel dared look at his wingman and friend one last time before he turned to follow. Kvant 1-6's front end was covered in a blossom of flame. The pilot of Kvant 1-5 barred his teeth; revenge would be had. He kept after the damned Fishbed that had done this.

The MiG-21 reversed and climbed. Pavel caught himself and used his training and better judgement. He only had one of each of his missiles left and his full cannon. The GSh would suit him far better for this. He switched to it and closed the gap between them as they climbed. The Romn used what advantages his simpler aircraft had against the more advanced fighter. The tactics seemed very proficient; this pilot was neither an amateur nor an average RALD servicemen. Either way, though, Pavel would have his prey. The man in the Fulcrum pulled back his nose and applied the MiG-29's superior Angel of Attack abilities to get himself some lead for the gun. The MiG-21 rolled over and began to dive, denying Pavel an immediate shot. The YAF pilot kept himself a little slower to allow time to react and time to pull away.

He still moved fast enough to catch the Fishbed as it tried to pull up again and make a hard left. The pilot of the MiG-29 snapped the gunsight into the path of the enemy fighter. With calm breath he pulled his index finger against the gun's trigger. Pavel came at the MiG from directly above it and fired, running shells along the length of the fuselage. As sparks and tracers lit the craft for a brief minute, he caught sight of the pilot starting up at him. The Lieutenant could feel his glare for just a second. Defiant, but he put the defiance down. The man eased his MiG-29 up and passed the defeated jet. He checked his fuel, already aware of his weapons. It would be best if he started for home. Immediately though he felt a little angrier than usual. He couldn't shake that stare…bastard Romn. Or whoever they'd been.

 _ **A/N: Yes South Africa is apparently a nation in SR. Or some sort of something; it was once pointed out to me as being on a newspaper clipping in ACZ. As with the other part(s) of this, all weapons are generally going by their Russian/Yuktobanian designations.**_


	3. Mayoral Recall

_Mayoral Recall_

 _January 29, 1987_

 _Near Kaplav, Romny_

The small convoy of canvas-backed T815 trucks rushed northwards along the highway, risking becoming the prey of a VVS Su-25 or MiG-27 to reach the Romn 55th Artillery Battalion before they ran out of shells. This area was one of the few pockets covered by RALD air defenses still, the driver reasoned. They could afford the risk one time; once the run had been made they could take a little more time getting home. From the side of the four-lane roadway, two hidden figures observed the unexpected appearance. They'd been told the Romns were sticking to back roads exclusively now that Frontal Aviation was rampaging across the country. But the two men also had been given more patience than the average human being.

"Should we report them either way?" One said in a voice that was soft, even for a whisper.

"No, let their haste kill them. They'll likely be found by at least one of our pilots. We have our own assignment, comrade." The other replied in an equally quiet voice.

Officially the men didn't exist at all. They had never joined the Yuktobanian Army, they had never been recruited from the Yuktobanian's paratrooper forces, the VDV, into the much-vaunted "Spetsnaz". In fact they weren't even lying on the side of the road, hidden from view. The two dark-haired, athletic men had never even been born. Unofficially the complete opposite was true. The two men simply known as "Dmitri" and "Viktor" (false names) were very much here, and they were very much a part of the GRU Spetsnaz. The orders for today had brought the two-man sniper team to Kaplav, Romny to help break the town's resistance before it could slow the advance south. Their target was the mayor; the city's morale rested heavily in his popularity amongst its citizens.

With the trucks gone, the sniper team hurried across the road to the center berm, only staying there temporarily before running again to the far side. Dmitri, the spotter, kept an eye out while Viktor ran across the other half of the road. Dmitri followed him soon after into the tree line on the opposite side. Once again they became a part of the scenery and resumed a steady crawl through the wilderness. On the other side of the trees was a long, steep slope that descended into Kaplav. The two wanted to get a good idea of what Romn forces were positioned at the edges of the city. The two men quietly didn't trust the KGB's reports to be totally accurate; they were usually more to make things sound good.

Viktor crawled under a log and stopped to listen. He heard nothing in the immediate area, only Dmitri behind him and the occasional sign of wildlife in the forest. Late afternoon light poked through the trees, bathing the entire area in a light almost like that of a Grimm fairy tale. Viktor quietly admired the scenery; such a horrible place to ruin with war. Hopefully the men in Cinnigrad could agree and restore the trees that were destroyed after all of this. A man of communism should learn to appreciate nature, he always believed. He brushed by a tall tree and stopped again, looking and listening for any sounds of human activity.

The forest seemed dead; Viktor wondered if the citizens of the city were staying inside their home, "circling the wagons" as the Oseans said. It worked all the better for him. When the two reached the edge of the woods, they paused to observe the city before they descended into it. Just past the bottom of the slope was the start of a large railyard that served two mammoth-sized production plants. Viktor slid forward a pair of binoculars and scanned downrange for some kind of opening. The plant wasn't running, but he saw lines of Skoda-brand cars sitting in what he'd initially thought were employee parking lots. A close examination of the plant revealed it'd been hit by something, likely a bomb.

He felt Dmitri poke him and looked over. The man pointed down towards the rail yard and drew attention to several closely clustered box cars and engines. Dmitri eased a map up to his field of vision and constantly looked back at the rail cars. One rail curved away from the main line and then split into multiple tracks again that ran by long, low warehouses. Beyond that were sheds to store the engines, and final a road curved into a U-shape. The first parts of the city began there. Beyond that the city hall was about three kilometers, near the town's taller buildings and town square. The entire way showed signs of the air war the VVS had been waging.

"Our best route lies there." Dmitri nodded.

"Very well then, let's go."

The descent down the slope was an unnerving affair, even for the two elite men. Much of it was low grass with large patches of mud hidden beneath the slowly melting snow. The two had to pick through it like they would a minefield, using their knives to detect patches of the soft ground and hurry around them. Constant glances across the large industrial complex revealed little, at least for now. Viktor found this troubling; the Yuktobanian army was maybe two or three days away. Why wasn't the mayor or whoever was in charge here doing something to stop people like him? Or were they walking into some kind of trap? Viktor softly whistled to Dmitri to stop and slid out his binoculars again. He still didn't see anything in the rail yard. Viktor lowered his binoculars and grimaced.

After a few minutes they returned to moving down the slope to a chain-link fence. Dmitri went to work with a pair of wire cutters while Viktor took up an over watch position. They made a hole just big enough to crawl through and set the section cut off halfway over the whole to disguise it for a while. From there the two were free to run from car to car. Dmitri took point, armed with the Spetsnaz's newest toy: the AS Val. He carefully went up and through the open doors of one box car, then down onto the other side. Viktor had gone to his silenced PB pistol in the tight space. They maneuvered between another two cars and then hid under the final ones before they'd have to dash about 25 meters across the last rail line and the open grounds to the nearest warehouse. The only life to be seen was a few birds.

Viktor leaned forward a little and saw that the warehouse to their right was empty. The writing above labeled it as being for incoming shipments. No wonder, he thought. The one to the left was closed up, though. Viktor squinted and saw what looked to be a padlock. His curiosity poked him, but he held back. Instead he looked towards the warehouse on the right and glanced around again.

"…Okay, go!" Dmitri hissed.

Viktor shuffled out from under the car and ran across the open space. It felt like a mile. Each step over the snow and the concrete felt louder and louder with each passing second. Every window seemed to have a shadow in it. Viktor was holding his breath until he was throwing himself against the wall at the corner of the building. He flashed a look into the open garage door of the warehouse and then motioned Dmitri over. The man made the run and took cover behind a pile of wooden pallets and peeked over down the way towards the city's inner areas. The two men hurried down the length of the warehouse, sweeping their weapons left and right as they hurried for the end and the slowly growing cover of the urban sprawl.

Dmitri went first, running towards an employee bus stop and parking lot of some sort. He crouched behind a bench and looked over before peeking over and waving Viktor on. The sniper ran after his spotter under the last bits of daylight and then hurried on to a few service vehicles sitting in the lot. Dmitri rejoined him and the two eyed the gate to the railyard before they spotted the headlights of a jeep. The two watched as a GAZ slowed in front of the gate and two soldiers in the garb of the Romn National Militia (RNM) jumped out from the back. One ran to the gate and fumbled with what the two Yuktobanians guessed was a locked and then the two pulled open the device. The two men, armed with Vz.52 rifles, ran forward and manned the guard booth just outside the gate. The man still in the jeep drove it forward and pulled off to the gate's left, opposite the guard post.

After a minute, several T815s rolled through the gate and sped down the road and veered left, then down the space between the two warehouses. Dmitri dared crawl out from under the truck and back towards the bus stop so he could see what the trucks were doing. The rear truck disgorged more trench coat-clad RNM troops. Several men ran to the locked warehouse and began opening the structure while others positioned themselves to form a semi-circle.

"That is quite a number of men…" Dmitri observed in an annoyed tone.

Dmitri saw other uniforms hurrying out to the space right of the convoy.

He recognized the universal hardhats and reflective coveralls of construction workers. They hauled wooden boxes on their shoulders but he couldn't tell what the writing on them was. He guessed either supplies…or maybe dynamite. Either way Dmitri had no time to fool around playing detective; he'd see to it that their superiors knew what happened. He crawled back and snuck back to Viktor as the beams of flashlights started to sweep about.

"We need to get through that gate." Viktor observed sourly.

"Should we find a different route" Dmitri suggested. The sniper shook his head.

"This is the route that'll get us there fastest. We already lost time descending the slope; we cannot afford to lose much more.

"The guards will be missed at some point."

"We must pick our poison…besides, we can find another way out. We've been through worse, Dmitri."

"We had immediate backup in Tyumen."

"We can either sit here debating or we can accomplish our mission. I'd rather not have some deteriorating party member use us as a scapegoat for any failures."

"Very well…get the man at the jeep. I'll get the men around the shack. I'll knock on the door, get em out. Shoot the man by the jeep as soon as I start shooting."

Dmitri and Viktor stayed low and pressed towards the dark, empty areas of the parking lot, using what few cars were around to hide. There were also a few piles of plowed snow to hide behind. When in the open, they stayed low and fast, using hell-to-toe motions. The guards had the GAZ's headlights aimed down the road leading to the gate. Apparently those and the streetlamps on outside the compound made them feel safe. The Spetsnaz enjoyed their own smiles of satisfaction; the militia was numerous, but they were not career soldiers. Two elite soldiers could easily out-think and out-maneuver them. They ended up next to the fence, where they began moving directly towards the guard post. As they got closer, Dmitri traded his AS Val for his PB as he approached the shack. The two men stopped a few feet away and checked with each other via hand signals.

Viktor moved to the left and lay down, raising the PB and waited for Dmitri to do his thing. Dmitri rapped his knuckled against the small shack's door twice and moved back. One of the men, rifle at the ready, burst out and looked in both directions. As he saw Dmitri, the Yuke's silenced pistol coughed. At the same time Viktor put two rounds into the far man's neck area. The militiaman fell clutching his throat. As the last man rushed out, Dmitri shot him in the side of the head.

"No time to hide the bodies." Viktor cursed.

"Then let us not be around when the others come looking." Dmitri agreed.

Relieved their gamble had paid off, the two hurried into the city beyond the train yard. The hurried down into a drainage ditch running parallel to the road. Despite that, they needed to pick up the pace now. If the clock hadn't been against them at the start of this mission, it surely was against them now…

* * *

The town hall had been transformed into a fortress. Sandbag emplacements surrounded the four-story building and its bell tower. Windows were blacked out or covered in wood and metal bars. Helmeted militia manned DShK machine guns at the bottom of the front stairs, nervously swiveling them about in search of targets. At least two patrols trotted around the building. A pair of OT-64 SKOTs waited near a black limousine in front of the place. KGB intelligence had determined the man, Mayor Kuba Marek, had been staying here even as his city was hit and threatened. He brazenly made speeches defying the Yuktobanians, rallying his entire city to act as the cut that would bleed the Yuktobanian Bear dry. Today that stopped, and in a few days the Yuktobanians hoped to roll over a broken and demoralized city.

"It is almost time…" Dmitri mumbled.

The two snipers had set up in an office building directly across the square to get the best shot. The shot would be a little over 550 meters and they'd be using a silencer for the shot. Once again stealth was at the fore; the two men would be moving as soon as the bullet hit the mayor. They would escape into the sewers and then find places to the West of the city to lay low until the offensive started. With the Romns distracted by the offensive, they'd then head north and be picked up by a helicopter on a "scouting mission".

Viktor's eye flicked towards the OT-64s, both of which were surrounded by militiamen. The men guarding them looked bored, as if this were some kind of peacetime motorcade escort. The Spetsnaz man pondered why this mayor's men didn't seem to reflect the spirit he tried to instill in them. Maybe the bombs and rockets that came down from Yuktobanian planes had broken that. Maybe the fact that the world's largest army was about to be on their doorstep. Either way Viktor didn't care. They wanted to be tempted by the evils of political and social reform. The thought of a potential Osean ally on Yuktobania's border was not what was needed as Yuktobania struggled.

Still, there were quiet a number of men for this. Viktor wondered if the word of the three dead men had gotten out, but he didn't count on it changing much. The city had been under attack since the war had started; the people surely couldn't be surprised by such things now. He adjusted his grip on his sniper rifle once again and flexed his fingers to keep them from getting stiff. Viktor had chosen a Steyr SSG 69 for the job. The foreign rifle had been taken so as to allow for a silencer and because the Wellowans made some of the finest guns possible. Success would be guaranteed in Viktor's mind.

"Guards coming out of the front doors." Dmitri grunted.

Viktor flexed his hand one more time before taking up his firing posture. He stared across the square at the doors of the town hall. Several militiamen, these ones visibly better armed and protected, hurried out and lined the stairs of the hall. Marek came out quickly, hunched forward and heading for the limo. Time seemed to slow for Viktor. He adjusted his breathing pattern and gripped the rifle tightly. The sniper rested the center of the scope's crosshairs at the landing halfway down the stairs. He could barely see Marek's face but he knew it from photos. Narrow chin, squinty eyes, wide smile and graying black hair. Viktor made sure to place the bullet in the man's face to destroy the visage that people looked to.

The shot was quick, and Viktor only stayed in position to confirm the man was down. He felt the rifle push against his arm even tighter for a second and cycled the bolt before flicking the spent casing across the room into a rubble-filled corner. Red blood started to spread across the pavement as soldiers scrambled to help, several took up position and looked around for targets. Viktor crawled back towards the nearest doorway while Dmitri took up position and covered their escape. Viktor covered their back while they pressed down the central stairs. They exited at the first floor above the ground, hurdling onto a trash dumpster and into a long alleyway that ran parallel to the street in front of the building. They were long gone by the time the first RNM troops approached the side of the square they'd been on…

* * *

It was a city at war, but the people of Kaplav didn't care. The marched slowly and quietly down the avenue of the city leading to Kaplav's largest graveyard. Most were old men, women, and children as the men were almost all off to fight. A few RNM troops walked alongside the group, and a small honor guard had been formed for the march that would take Kuba Marek to his grave. His caskets was decorated with flowers and covered with the Romn flag that'd been in his office. Mourners at the front carried portraits of the man, smiling and confident.

As they crossed an intersection, a low rumbled sounded to the north. A few looked back as more thunderclaps followed. None of the people scattered or went for cover. They all simply stared for a minute, and then began marching again. Meanwhile the Yuktobanian Army marched south with its sights set on Kaplav. The fight so many had deemed inevitable was finally coming into existence.


End file.
